Pets Are In The Chat, I’m Not

My father, Richard Carter, is a fintech billionaire who rang the opening bell at Nasdaq—twice. My mother, Dr. Vivian Carter, is a renowned neurosurgeon trained at Johns Hopkins and has been featured in Time Magazine. My older brother, Ethan, is one of Twitch's biggest esports stars. His gamer tag is EClipse, and he has eight million followers. My younger brother, Caleb, was admitted to MIT at fifteen. My younger sister, Madison, has over ten million followers on t****k. Even her guinea pig, Buttons, has three hundred thousand followers. And me? I'm Riley. The only person in the family without a verified badge. Well, that's not entirely true. I do have a role. One time Madison posted a t****k called: "Guess How Many People Are in Our Family?" The photos flashed one after another— Dad. Mom. Ethan. Caleb. Madison. Then Buttons. Mochi. Max. Eight photos. Neatly arranged. No me. Someone in the comments asked: "Maddie, don't you have an older sister?" Her reply got pinned to the top. One sentence. "Oh, she doesn't really count as family lol." Doesn't really count as family. The girl I'd called "little sister" for twenty years added a laughing emoji and publicly announced that I wasn't family. The video trended on Twitter for two hours. It passed a hundred million views. Her team never apologized. Instead, they released a statement: "Regarding Madison's comments during the livestream: The remarks were made for entertainment purposes and should not be overinterpreted." Entertainment purposes. I remember holding my phone, staring at those words. My hands were shaking. Not from anger. From cold. The kind of cold that seeps out through the cracks in your bones. And worse was still coming. That night at dinner, I thought my parents would say something. Anything. My mother cut into her steak without looking up. "Riley, your sister's already dealing with enough attention right now. Don't make things harder for her. Stay out of the spotlight. Keep a low profile." My father added, "The PR team handled it. This matter is closed." Closed. The daughter who'd been erased was me. The problem that needed to be "handled" was me. Later, I looked through the pets' social media accounts. Max's bio read: "The Carter family's eldest son." Mochi's said: "The softest baby in the Carter family." Buttons' bio: "The family's favorite. Everyone's little sweetheart." Madison's team managed all three accounts. Daily posts. Perfect grids. Professional edits. Even a video of the guinea pig chewing lettuce came with behind-the-scenes clips of the whole family. I scrolled for over an hour. More than two thousand posts across the three accounts. Not one mentioned my name. There was a pinned video, though. I clicked it. "Buttons' 2nd Birthday Party Vlog." The backyard had a balloon arch. A three-tier pet birthday cake. Custom-made illuminated letters spelling out a giant B. My father canceled a business trip and wore a party hat to sing Happy Birthday. My mother hand-fed Buttons carrot puree. Ethan skipped streaming for the night. Caleb flew back from Boston. At the end of the video, Madison made a heart with her hands and smiled at the camera. "Birthdays are all about family. Everybody's gotta be here." Everybody. My twenty-second birthday had been one week earlier. On the family calendar, that day was marked: Buttons — Vet Appointment. No one remembered. Including me. I'd already learned not to expect anything. Expectation was the most expensive luxury in that house. The pets could expect birthday cakes. My siblings could expect applause. The only thing I could reasonably expect was that today's trash would be one bag lighter than yesterday's. That night I opened the family shared photo album. Over four thousand photos. I appeared three times. Twice as a figure in the background. Once half of my face accidentally showed up while I was bathing Max. The caption read: Dog Bath Day.